


At First Light

by SourCherryBlossom



Category: Homeland
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Prompt Fill, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SourCherryBlossom/pseuds/SourCherryBlossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set Season 4, Episode 11.  Aasar and Carrie investigate Quinn’s potential activities after he’s gone rogue.<br/>Prompt: “Aasar, take off your pants!”<br/>Additional request from the fandom: “extra smut.”<br/>I like a challenge. Canon to start with.  Rated M for, well, smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At First Light

It was after-hours, nearing Midnight. Through a wedge-shaped central city market, still alive with vendors and shoppers, walked Aasar Khan, following right on the heels of Carrie Mathison. She walked purposefully, and seemed to be using the surrounding stalls and landmarks to navigate her way through the disorganized, irregularly shaped plaza. The smells of roasting meat and incense floated on the air. Khan sped up his pace until he was alongside Carrie.

"Are you sure you can find the location again?" Khan asked. He certainly wasn't afraid to be out late in his city, not with his status or training. However, he had a small amount of trepidation about being out alone with Carrie, after dark, for reasons he had not articulated even to himself. Memories from the bizarre night at his home touched his dreams, but he deliberately tried to set them aside on waking.

"Yes, I'm sure," she said, not looking at him. "Here, this stall. We take a right." She turned at a market corner, around a stall filled with spices, eventually leading Khan out of the market into a narrow, dark alley. He had picked her up at the Embassy, and driven as far as they could, but access to this alley was only available through the market square, in which cars were forbidden. Without streetlights, the lane was threateningly dark. Carrie pulled a tiny LED flashlight out of her pocket, and started into the alley. Looking to the left and the right, Khan followed after her. He had given up on stalling her until morning.

Stopping at an entryway, three doors down, Carrie stated, "Here. I found it this afternoon, but I didn't want to search it by myself. If he's making a chemical bomb, he probably will have been here, maybe worked on it here." She put her hand flat on the door, and pushed. Shining her flashlight into the darkness, Carrie stepped up and inside the building, Khan close behind her.

Aasar Khan had been in a lather of activity since the previous week's incursion at the American Embassy. Conflicted, he felt that his survival depended on his colluding with Qureshi and her supporters, but privately, he had provided tips to Carrie Mathison, which assisted her in finding out the leak in her organization. It was too little, too late, though, and the previous week Carrie had nearly been killed in an RPG attack on her convoy. Khan had sat, paralyzed, in the back of his limousine, phone clutched in a hand going cold, knowing that his decision to delay an Army presence in the street might cost her life. Tasneem had sat next to him, looking daggers, ready to add his name to her own internal kill list if he deviated from her instructions. Fortunately, Carrie had survived, with only a scratch. No thanks to him.

Khan's guilt regarding the Embassy attack and aftermath had gotten beneath his professional exterior to a degree that he had never experienced. Most of his disconcerting thoughts centered around Carrie. He did his best to rationalize those feelings, calling them propinquity, or infatuation, or limerence– an Oxford education is good for a vocabulary, if nothing else. But he hadn't convinced himself, not in any meaningful way.

Khan had tried to get his mind off the situation, for an evening, at least. At home, he pulled a book of poetry by William Carlos Williams down out of his library, sitting down to read with a cup of Darjeeling. Even poetry failed to distract him, as he came across the lines:

"You lethargic, waiting upon me,

waiting for the fire and I

attendant upon you, shaken by your beauty

Shaken by your beauty

Shaken."

Perturbed, he shut the book with a snap.

Carrie had come to Khan days before, asking his help. She requested that he put a hold on the kill order on Peter Quinn, and he had reluctantly agreed to assist her. His stomach had curdled when she called him her Chief of Support. He spitefully reminded her that she could get on a plane and go home, but he had to live here. Her face open, pleading, she had appealed to him, reminding him, "There was a moment not long ago when you trusted me." Taken aback and more than a little ashamed, he agreed to help her personally follow up on leads which would lead them to Quinn – to get Quinn out of his bloody country, if nothing else. Carrie's detective work into Quinn's putative methods for assassinating Haqqani had lead to some research into the availability of bomb-making materials. As a result, she was determined to search an old chemical warehouse, where they now stood. Her anxiety to complete her task before Quinn did the deed had brought them here at night. And remembering the poem, Khan was one part elation – four parts discomfort. He hoped the ratio would invert, somehow.

Khan moved deeper into the warehouse, following Carrie's shadowy form, which was illuminated in a halo of sharp white light. Her blond hair was radiant - the brightest thing in this dismal place. He walked more quickly to catch up, until she stopped in an area where the floor was congested with debris. She pointed up at the shelves on the walls.

"Here," she said, pointing with the flashlight. "And here," she said pointing one shelf lower. "These are the things he'd need to make ANTI." She looked at him to see if he'd comprehended her. He had, of course, as Counter-Terrorism Chief, heard of the chemical explosive, which was relatively cheap and simple to make.

"I am surprised," Aasar offered, "that he isn't planning on using plastique."

Carrie's face fell. "He might be," she admitted. "In fact this might be plan B."

"And what makes you think Peter Quinn was anywhere near this place?" Khan said.

"It fits the description of the kind of place he'd choose for a crib," she said, "deserted, available chemicals, privacy, but it's not locked, a part of town where he's unlikely to be observed. Also, there's no other business or former business in Islamabad that houses this variety of chemicals, except schools and the University." she said. After the litany of reasons, Khan was silent. He looked at her gravely, unconvinced. She said, "Trust me, I know him. This is one of his likely hiding places. And if it is, we might find evidence. Figure out how to take him into custody."

Quinn, the thorn in my side, he thought. and for more than one reason. "Is that why we're here in the middle of the night?" Khan asked, strain entering his voice. He stepped closer to her, apparently to listen. What he found himself doing, though, was drawing close enough to examine the color of her eyes, beautiful even in the murky light.

"He's very likely with a German expat tonight, at an unknown location. At least that's the rumor." she said, a moue of disgust on her face.

"Under the protection of someone from another government?" Khan inquired. He hoped not, that could get complicated.

"No, just under someone," she said irritably. "Now come on, help me look around."

"Do we only have one flashlight?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Unless you brought one, yes. So let's stick together." The muscles of his abdomen tensed, then relaxed.

Khan and Carrie moved carefully around the perimeter of the abandoned chemical warehouse, which was a minefield of dangers. As Carrie stepped over obstacles or around fallen bins or crushed boxes, Khan found he needed to stay very close to her, in order to stay within range of the light. They were looking for laboratory equipment, unusual areas of organization in a chaotic environment, signs of recent occupation. Carrie went off balance as she stepped around a large tipped-over 55 gallon drum, and Khan shot out a hand to steady her, gripping her upper arm.

"Thanks," she said gratefully. He let go of her arm, but immediately put it around her waist, moving to walk next to her in the dark, instead of single file. A moment later, he quivered as he felt her arm snake around his waist, completing their coupling, side by side in the dark. He flexed his fingers and pulled her in closer. She didn't object. It was much safer, really, he told himself.

They continued the search, ending up in front of some battered wooden shelving that was stacked with reagent bottles, some labels in English, some worn right off. Carrie and Khan turned as one body, satisfied that this area didn't contain what they wanted. As Carrie pointed the flashlight away, her elbow bumped the shelving. The ancient structure was weak and unstable, with several tall plastic drums stacked high near the ceiling. One of them wobbled, tipped off the shelving, and plunged to the ground in front of them.

The impact split the drum open, splashing an unknown chemical on Khan's trousers, and dousing Carrie from neck to ankles. The smell was strange, unpleasant. The loud noise of the breakage and splash startled Carrie, and she shrieked. He grabbed her hand and moved towards the entrance, pulling her away from the spill.

"Shit, fuck! I'm so sorry!" Carrie apologized, as they made their way rapidly through the warehouse, towards the back door, holding hands for balance. "Are you ok? Is it burning your skin?" she asked anxiously.

"I don't know," Khan said, worried. "I can't tell."

"I can't tell either, and it's all over me. Fuck! Hurry," she urged. Her hand gripped his fingers. They had reached the back door of the warehouse, where the door hung partly open, and dim blue light was shining in.

"Which place is closer, the Embassy, or your house?" Carrie asked frantically. It wasn't like they were in a modern lab, where you could just jump under a safety shower and pull the chain.

"My house is much closer," he panted, as they emerged into the alley. "Minutes. Run."

They bolted for Khan's SUV, and got inside. Khan fired it up, gunned the engine and got moving. The thick chemical smell filled the car. "Fuck," Carrie said, distressed, "I think this is burning my skin." She popped her seat belt loose, started unbuttoning her pants, slid them down and off, around her ankles. She kicked shoes and socks off the process, then took her jacket off and threw it on the floor. More and more of her ivory skin became visible every second, and Khan sneaked peeks out of the corner of his eye.

"Aasar," she ordered, "Take off your pants."

"As soon as we get there. We're minutes out."

"Any idea of what this is?" she asked, fretting. "I can't tell by the smell."

"I have no idea," he said, concerned. She squirmed in the seat, now wearing only a soft blue shell on top, and panties on the bottom. Between the near-embrace in the dark, her proximity, the accident and near nudity, Khan's heart was set to beat right out of his chest. He pulled up in front of the house, and turned the car off.

"Come," he ordered. He unlocked the door of his house, shut it behind them after she stepped inside, and began rapidly removing his clothing.

Standing in the foyer of Khan's palatial home, Carrie pulled her blouse over her head, dropped it, watching him undress.

"Where's the bathroom," she said, breathlessly.

Khan was stooped over, removing shoes, socks, pants. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carrie's panties and brasserie hit the floor. Pink lace, he noted, gulping. He stood up, facing her, both of them now completely naked. He reached out, grabbed her wrist. "Upstairs. Master bathroom," he said.

They hustled to Khan's bathroom, where he flipped the lights, and turned on a huge double shower. He got in immediately and gestured for her to follow. "Come on, come on, before you're really injured," he urged, worriedly. Carrie got into the shower with him, and closed the door behind her. Khan spent a moment adjusting the temperature, then turned back to face Carrie. Her proximity, her nakedness in the shower had about blown all his fuses, and in spite of the dangerous situation, he knew he was getting hard, would stay hard, and there wouldn't be any way to hide it. He turned back and faced the wall. They both stood for a moment, finally able to rinse off the unknown chemical agent, the emergency over.

Carrie stood under the stream, facing away from Khan, letting the water wash over her, hair and all. Aasar snuck peeks over his shoulder. As she stroked her body, cleaning it, his eyes devoured the curve of her hip, the sides of her breasts, her shoulders. Small and lithe. A Venus, he thought. He turned to face her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, now fully erect and hard as a board. There was no point in trying to hide it.

She turned to face him. If she found his erection distressing, she certainly didn't show it. "I think so. I don't know what that was, but I think we washed it off. How about you?" she asked. He watched, incredulous, as Carrie knelt down, first on one knee, then on both, right in front of him, and began to run her hands up and down his thighs, where the chemical had soaked into his trousers. Her touch was soft, maddening him with arousal. "I don't see any burns, or anything," she said.

Heart in his throat, Khan reached down, put his hand on her head, next to her ear, stroking. "I don't think I'm injured," he said, overwhelmed by her tenderness.

She leaned forward, put her cheek on his upper thigh, her nose right next to his balls,and his hand pressed and held her there as her arms came up and wrapped around his legs and ass. They sustained this kneeling embrace, relieved, breathing in clouds of steam. "Oh, God, this has all been such a clusterfuck," she sighed mournfully. "I'm so sorry." The vibration of her voice was alarmingly close to his scrotum. Khan closed his eyes, overcome. The water streamed down over both of them. He reached down, grabbed her arms, pulled her to her feet.

"It was an accident. We're alright," he said, softly. She leaned into him, pressed her body against him, his erection squeezed between their bellies. Then her mouth was on his neck, another layer of heat and wetness. From there, the kiss developed naturally, her body a slick delight of heat and softness, her lips reaching up to his chin. He held her more tightly, and his wonder grew, in shock that she was interested at all, let alone intimate. He had been certain that his preoccupation was one-sided. Khan finally turned her face to his and kissed her lips, opening her mouth with his. Heat and steam surrounded them, and the kiss deepened, continued, grew more urgent. He heard her give a soft moan, almost sounding surprised. Her hands dropped to his buttocks, and cupped them, squeezing. His hands stroked up and down her back, enjoying her softness, comforting her. Then, she broke the kiss, and pulled back. He dropped his arms to his sides, profoundly disappointed and horribly excited, finally ready to leap into bed with this beautiful nymph. Through misfortune, she had finally ended up naked in his arms, and for a moment, he had thought she'd actually have him. He sighed.

"Aasar, we need to stop this," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said simply, cock still bobbing at the ready.

She frowned for a second. "No, I mean stop the shower. I'm getting lightheaded from the heat and steam, and I don't want to faint when you fuck me," she said, eyes hot on his.

He hurriedly turned off the shower head next to him, as she turned off hers. Opening the shower door, he stepped out and reached for towels, tossing her one. He started to towel himself off, while she took a quick swipe through her hair. This state of tension was tolerable for only about 30 seconds, when Khan again grabbed her wrist.

He pulled her towards the bed, she with a wicked smile, he with a look of ferocious intent.

At the edge of his bed, he stopped, turned to face her. Pulled her into his arms, again pressing his lips to hers, tongues diving so deeply that their teeth clicked briefly. Soon, spit-sealed and taut, he fell back, pulling her with him, on top of him. She spread her legs and wrapped him, and threaded one hand into his hair. Khan grabbed a white buttock in each hand, and squeezed. The pressure of her body on his, as she squirmed, kissing and tonguing him, was about to unman him. He severed the kiss, and forcefully flipped her off him and onto her back.

Now Carrie lay, legs curving off the bed at the knees, and spread. Khan moved above, and suspended over her, took a moment to observe her, tenderly mark her beauty in his mind. Her skin, the shape of her shoulders. He memorized her - fixing in his mind the color of her eyes, the shape of her nipples.

She lay patiently, looking back at him, one slim white hand caressing his arm. "Aasar, what are you looking at?" she asked, self-conscious. Her wet hair was slicked back, emphasizing how pale her forehead was, how smooth her brow. He kissed her there, and said, "Beauty." She closed her eyes.

Khan moved his kisses to her neck, the hollow of her throat. He kissed his way down the front of her, over her breastbone, over the swell of her belly. He parted her thighs further, his long fingers dark against her pallor. She stroked his hair with her hands as he worked his way down, the rate of her breathing and gasps, her closed eyes, told him his touch was welcome. His finger boldly entered her labia, and stopped at the entrance of her cunt.

"I want to touch you here, kiss you," he panted. "I want to touch all of you."

"I want you to," she said, moaning her assent.

Khan knelt on the floor between her legs, and pulled her to him, so that her folds were directly in front of him. He pulled her labia wide apart with his thumbs, the crimson throat of her now visible, her pearl, bulging with excitement, hooded at the top. He stared at the intimate core of her, studied it. Took a deep breath and blew on it, the soft breeze making her shudder. "You're beautiful here, too," he said, voice shaking. Then he put his mouth on her. She sucked in her breath.

Khan's tongue, his lips, worked her, engulfed her, and he inserted one finger, then two, into her cunt. Carrie moaned, pulled her legs back, shifted and squirmed. Khan's two fingers, held palm towards the floor, kept her fixed in place, available for his mouth. "Don't struggle," he commanded sharply. He kept up the steady pressure with his tongue, working her clit, searching for the rhythm that would gratify her lust. She was uninhibited and sensitive, her excitement easy to detect in the amount of moisture at her opening. His teeth gently nipped at her clit. Her cries, which had started low, like a purr, were becoming more urgent, and higher. Khan's prick throbbed in anticipation as his two fingers slid smoothly in and out. He licked and sucked her, pressing, kissing in rhythm. He sensed her orgasm approaching, and withdrew his fingers, instead pressing one fingertip gently at the opening of her anus, firmly rubbing in circles at the entrance. The near-invasion set her off, and she gave a plaintive wail, high and repeated, as he sucked her clit in between his teeth, a lost sound that tore at his heart. He finished her, more gently, licking and kissing only at the end, tasting her. Her hand reached down for him, and he reached up and clasped it. Her legs fell back again over the side of the bed, collapsing, as she gasped for breath.

"Jesus Christ," she heaved.

He stood, put his arms under her, lifted her into the middle of the bed, her head on the pillow. Without another word, he levered himself between her thighs, and socketed himself into her dripping cunt, right up to the hilt. His dark eyes, intent on her face, showed his desire to complete the act, mend the pain her solo orgasm had seemed to bring, the sound of her loneliness contained in that mournful ululation.

She was wet and loose, so with no preamble, he began stroking. She wrapped her legs around him, her eyes on his, the blue of them, an ocean ready to storm. She threw both arms above her head in abandon as he quickened the pace. Her tightness, willingness, her soft legs squeezing him, gunning him to continue, brought him to the precipice. He gave a rough cry, and poured himself into her, thrusting deep, her back arched like a bow as she climaxed again. He bent, and pressed his lips to her neck, as her soft cries slowed and quieted. He sighed her name.

She wrapped her arms around him, and he stayed on top of her, in her. Minutes passed, their heartbeats slowed, her damp cheek pressed to his. Finally, he reluctantly withdrew, and lay next to Carrie. She curled into his side, head on his shoulder, making herself small, and shivered. He reached out and pulled the coverlet over her, and for some small peaceful span of time, they slept.

A few hours later, Khan felt Carrie stir. She sat up, got her bearings for a moment. She turned to see if he was awake, and saw him regarding her, head on top of his folded arm.

Looking slightly embarrassed, she said, "Wow, what a night, huh?"

He couldn't think how to respond to that. It had been the most euphoric night of his life. He sat up next to her, put a hand on her lower back,

"Yes. Quite a night." He leaned over, kissed her shoulder. She leaned over, kissed him on the lips, but briefly. Getting out of bed, she looked around, and remembered.

"Shit, all the clothes I had on yesterday, I can't wear them," she fretted. "What the hell am I going to wear home?"

"I'll get you something," Khan said, soothingly. "Something suitable. Once the markets are open."

"Then I guess I'll have to stay for a few more hours," she said, crawling back up onto the bed. She sounded contented, even playful. He didn't think he'd ever heard her use that tone of voice before. She flopped back on the pillow, sighed. And smiled. "This was a lot more fun than the last time I slept in your bed," she said.

She lay there for a time, then turned on her side, away from him, and Khan curled himself around her. "Tomorrow," she said thoughtfully, "I'll have to get back to work, back to the investigation. And try to find Quinn."

"At first light," Khan said. He wanted to ask if he could spend more time with her, but was afraid of the answer. He thought he knew.

This had to be enough for now, maybe forever, he thought. He pulled her close. He whispered it again, into her hair, as she drifted off.

"At first light."


End file.
